


To Sir, With Love

by notlucy



Series: Additional Information [7]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, BDSM, But a silly sort of jealousy, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dom Steve Rogers, Dom/sub, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Idiots in Love, Impact Play, Jealous Steve Rogers, M/M, POV Steve Rogers, Power Exchange, Professor roleplay, Roleplay, Spanking, Sub Bucky Barnes, Sweet Bucky Barnes, With apologies to Indiana Jones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-04 03:35:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14584077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notlucy/pseuds/notlucy
Summary: Steve recognizes that his jealousy over Bucky's infatuation with one of his professors isn'trational, but that doesn't make it any less real. And, hey, if you can't beat them, join them, right?  Besides, he's always wanted a tweed jacket.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the latest one-shot in the [_Proprietary Information_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11964402/chapters/27054777) universe. You will likely be confused if you haven't read that work, though I suppose this one can be read as its own smutty/silly story. 
> 
> The action here takes place between February-April of the main story's epilogue, while Bucky's in grad school.

The second semester of Bucky’s first year as a graduate student brought with it a change in routine. Namely, Bucky had class on Thursday nights, which left Steve to his own devices. Not that it was a problem - Steve was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, and he was thrilled that school was going so well for Bucky. He'd made new friends, liked his professors, and was killing it grades-wise (not that grades mattered, but Steve could be proud of his scholar if he wanted to be).

Still, it was a bit of a letdown to step off the elevator on Thursdays and find the house quiet. Bucky had been living with him for less than a year, but he’d made himself such a part of Steve’s life that his absence was sorely felt. So he’d found things to keep himself busy. Namely, eating a lonely sandwich while doing work.

Bucky would get home around eight, full of stories about his day, which he’d share as he ate a late dinner. The third Thursday of their new paradigm, however, Bucky texted around the same time he should have been arriving home.

> _We r going 4 drinks dnt wait up!_

Steve recognized his initial response as one of annoyance, then dug a bit deeper to find it was more disappointment than anything else. He wanted Bucky home, which wasn’t fair to Bucky, who had every right to do what he liked. Revelatory. Steve’s new therapist was paying off (and for what he was spending per session, he ought to be). He considered a few possible responses before shooting back a quick “ _have fun and be careful_.”

Bucky’s reply was instantaneous.

> _Ok mom_

Smartass. Steve shut his laptop and stretched, groaning as his neck popped in protest, though he expected nothing less after a day spent hunched over his desk, fixing someone else’s fuckup.

The part of him that was disappointed had wanted to see Bucky. Needed to see Bucky.

It was fine. Bucky was having fun. Steve could manage himself - a glass of scotch and a book Bucky had termed ‘boring’ was a decent enough way to end his evening, so he changed into pajamas and put himself to bed at ten.

The next thing he knew, he was somewhat rudely awakened by a boozy, warm body crawling into bed with him. He couldn’t begin to guess the time.

“Mmmph, hi,” he said with a yawn, reaching out to pull Bucky in, finding him all arms and legs as he flopped artlessly into Steve’s embrace.

“Oh wow, sorry,” Bucky half-whispered, voice modulating between drunk and _very_ drunk. “Hi. I was being so quiet!”

“You were,” Steve agreed, pleased to discover that Bucky had stripped down to nothing but his boxers before getting into bed. “You have fun?”

“Yup.” Steve tugged Bucky closer, biting at the meat of his shoulder, because what good was giving your boyfriend access to your personal trainer if you couldn’t enjoy the fruits of said training? “S’good, and it’s. Man, Steve. Mike came out with us, and he’s...Steve, he’s the _best_. He just _gets_ it, yanno?”

Steve did not get it, so he bit down on the same spot, hard enough to draw a yowl out of Bucky, who had a hell of a time keeping quiet when he was drunk. “Mike?”

“Dr. Moretti. He’s teaching my...oh, Steve, _ow_ , fuck!”

Steve un-bit the bite before pressing a kiss to the spot, running a hand across Bucky’s bare torso. “You call your professor Mike? Isn’t that disrespectful?”

“My whole ass is disre- _ow_!” Bucky cackled, jerking his hips forward when Steve gave his disrespectful ass a pinch. “Knock it off. The fuck am I to you, one of those stress toys?”

“Yeah.” That wasn’t the worst idea. “Gonna pinch you until you relieve all my stress, pal.”

“Okay,” Bucky agreed, an undignified yawn escaping as he rubbed his eyes in a way that made Steve think of the grade school pictures he’d seen at Bucky’s childhood home. “Tomorrow, though? M’so tired…”

“You’re so drunk.”

“That, too.”

Steve laughed, allowing Bucky to cuddle up against him the way he favored - Steve’s big, drunk, body pillow - before kissing him on the forehead. “Night, sweetheart.”

“Night,” he mumbled.

Just as Steve became sure Bucky had passed out, he piped up again.

“...Mike said…”

“Mike said what?”

“Said t’call him Mike ‘cause it’s not…” Another big, dopey yawn. “Not undergrad anymore.”

“Sure, Buck. Go to sleep, huh?”

Bucky did.

 

* * *

 

The Mike issue - an issue of Steve’s own making - didn’t rear its head again until two weeks later. They were at home, not precisely _with_ each other, but in one another’s general sphere of influence. Bucky was in the dining room with his laptop and a mess of schoolwork on the table in front of him, while Steve sat in the living room reviewing some nonsense paperwork he had to go over for a meeting with the lawyers on Monday.

A perfectly uneventful Saturday, save for the fact that Bucky’s goddamn phone was buzzing every five seconds.

“ _Bucky,_ ” he snapped, when the four trillionth vibration from the device sliced through him and set every nerve in his body on edge. “Either put your phone somewhere I can’t hear it, or turn it off.”

Big, offended blue eyes blinked at him as though he’d suggested disemboweling a newborn kitten. “I can’t! It’s _school_!”

“School is texting you?”

“Uh, no. It’s a group chat? We’re discussing this week’s case study, and Mike’s giving some really good insight, which I _need_ for the prep assignment.”

Steve massaged his temples. Mike, again. “Yeah, alright,” he said. “I guess I’ll just go into my office.”

“You probably should,” Bucky agreed.

Steve couldn’t tell if Bucky was being shitty, or if he was actually trying to help. Probably the latter, considering the way Bucky was grinning like an idiot at his phone, oblivious to the situation.

Jesus. Steve wasn’t jealous of a _phone_ \- and most especially not of a phone he’d designed.

A little over an hour passed before Bucky appeared in his office, all sweetness and solicitude, draping himself over Steve’s shoulders and peppering a few kisses down his jawline. “I’m all done,” he said. “Are you?”

“Nearly. What’s up?”

“Thought we could go out and be like normal people, not cave weirdos who never leave their house.”

Steve bit back a grin and attempted to feign shock, clapping a hand to his cheek in a way that got a snort out of Bucky. “People go... _out_? Surely not, Bucky, surely we’re not the weirdos who--”

“Shh.” Bucky covered Steve’s mouth with his hand. Steve licked his palm. “Steve! You’re so fuckin’ gross. Let’s go to the Guggenheim.”

“You hate the Guggenheim,” he countered, words muffled behind Bucky’s wet palm.

“I think the Guggenheim looks like a toilet,” Bucky replied, removing his hand. “I don’t hate it.”

“Jesus you’re so fuckin’ cultured, Bucky. I really did luck out when I dragged you outta the swamp…”

“Oh my _God_. Do you want to go out or not?”

“Yes.” Turning his head, he gave Bucky a quick kiss before he could pull away. “Give me half an hour?”

Bucky nodded, straightening up. Something in his posture made Steve a little crazy, so he reached out and caught him by the wrist, considering.

“What?” Bucky asked, mouth curling up into a smile.

“Mmm...go change. Wear the jeans you bought last week, and the grey sweater I got you for Christmas. The cashmere one. Nothing underneath. And...whatever shoes you want, but black socks.”

No-Poker-Face Barnes lit up like a beacon, up for any game Steve wanted to play, even if it was merely telling him what he could wear.

“Can I...eat something before we go?”

Or what he could eat. Trust Bucky to up the ante.

“No,” Steve said, releasing Bucky’s wrist and turning back to his work. “Drink some water, though. If you’re a good boy at the museum and don’t complain, I might buy you a snack.”

“I’ll be good.”

“Promises, promises.”

As it happened, he was pretty good. Not great. Steve bought him a snack anyway.

 

* * *

 

The semester wore on, and Mike’s presence in Steve’s life went from the low, annoying hum of a lone mosquito to a fucking swarm. A text here, a dropped name there. Bucky was constantly talking about what Mike thought, what Mike did. Mike’s dissertation. Mike’s research. Mike’s clinical practice and how _wow_ , Mike just put so much _theory_ into _action_. 

If Steve heard the phrase “practical application” one more time he was going to lose his mind.

Sure, Steve recognized the jealousy for what it was. Knew he shouldn't be that guy. Wouldn’t be that guy. He’d let jealousy influence him once before with Bucky, and he wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice. This was an infatuation with a mentor and nothing more. Bucky wasn’t the type, because Bucky was a good person.

But Mike.

Steve didn’t know Mike.

Maybe Mike wasn’t that good. Maybe he was the kind of morally bankrupt academic who would take advantage of a genuine kid like Bucky. Target him. Charm and flatter him, invite him out for drinks. Notice all the things in Bucky that were so damned lovable.

As if Bucky would fall for it. Bucky was smarter than that.

All the same, Steve hated Mike.

Hated the way his light brown curls were always perfectly tousled. Hated that he was clean-shaven to Steve’s bearded. Hated that he had a big, bright smile. A Mediterranean tan and a well-muscled body. Taller than Steve with a booming laugh and a dazzling intellect.

Granted, Steve had never _met_ Mike, but the Mike that lived in his head looked like an Italian movie star and Steve really, really hated the image of that guy.

It was especially easy to hate Mike when Steve had to travel for work. There was a trip to Seoul scheduled for just before Bucky’s spring break, and though they had plans to take a vacation together once he returned, it bothered him to be separated from Bucky by thousands of miles and ten time zones. Granted, it always bothered him to be so far from Bucky, but knowing that Mike was around - being a flirty, handsome, genius - made it worse.

As was their usual protocol when Steve traveled, they tried to talk at least once a day, which meant some awkwardly timed check-ins. It was seven in the morning on the third day of his trip, and Steve was looking down the barrel of a day filled with awkwardly translated meetings. Bucky, meanwhile, was nearly ready for bed in New York.

Steve was listening - or trying to - though he also had a spreadsheet open in the corner of the screen as Bucky talked. Bucky could be long-winded, was all.

“...so you know how that Rachel woman was a disaster? She wasn’t even _tenured_ , and now I find out she’s leaving at the end of the semester to go somewhere else, and that’s fine, I get it, but she could have at least told me. I only found out from Priya because she tried to get an appointment with Rachel and like...she’s not making any new appointments, which I think is total bullshit because she still has half a semester to teach!”

“Uh huh.”

“So anyway, I asked Mike, and he said he’d submit the…”

“Wait, what? What happened?” The dreaded ‘M’ was enough to get Steve’s attention.

“I’m switching advisors,” Bucky said, though it was too late - he was already frowning. “Are you working right now?”

Oops. “I...yeah. Sorry, Buck. I’m closing it out, alright?”

No response, only a pout.

“Aw, pal, come on...I was listening. You said uh, Rachel’s your advisor?”

“No. I said Rachel _was_ my advisor, but she’s leaving. Mike’s going to submit paperwork so he can advise me instead.”

Bucky’s voice was tight and angry. Steve genuinely felt terrible, and also realized that it might not be the best time to bring up his mostly-imagined reservations about perfect Mike. “Well uh, if you think that’s for the best, Buck.”

“I do.” Bucky in full-pissed off mode was a thing to behold - sentences short, arms folded tight over his chest so he could lean back and away from the camera. Shit.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry.” Steve wished he could hug him and apologize properly. “Please don’t be mad at me - it’ll ruin my whole day.”

That earned him a grunt and an eye-roll. “When you do other shit while we’re talking,” Bucky began. “I _feel_ like you don’t think what I’m saying is _valuable_.”

Steve knew therapy speak when he heard it, and he forced himself to count to three before responding. Because Steve, as it happened, had learned from his own therapist that he was occasionally prone to defensiveness. Which, yeah, maybe he was. He was working on it.

“I do think what you’re saying is valuable,” he said. “I have a big day coming up, which is not an excuse, I know. But I am sorry.”

Bucky frowned, though he did uncross his arms. “Apology accepted, I guess. I gotta go.”

“Okay, but hey, I miss you, and I love you.”

“Cheesy. Miss you, too.” Bucky’s pout was decidedly more playful than pissed now.

“I’ll see you Saturday, okay?”

“Yeah. Love you back.” Bucky crossed his eyes and stuck his tongue out before ending the call.

Steve spent most of the morning wishing the conversation had gone differently. If he’d been paying attention, he might have been able to advise Bucky against his choice of advisor. Mike probably listened attentively to every word Bucky said - probably spent a lot of time validating him with therapy-speak. Mike was an asshole. In theory.

Steve’s guilty conscience had him calling his assistant over lunch, apologizing for waking him, considering the time in Manhattan. Arrangements were made to have a bike messenger pick up and deliver exactly three donuts from Bucky’s favorite place in Brooklyn. If his timing was right, they’d arrive at the house in time for breakfast.

His phone chimed with a new text around five-thirty, as he sat in his fiftieth meeting of the day. He had to fight to keep the grin off his face when he looked down to find a picture of Bucky lasciviously licking a donut.

 

> _Thx for bribe, STEVEN._

 

> _Welcome. Forgiven?_

 

> _Ask me Saturday._

 

* * *

 

It ought to have gotten better, the Mike thing. Spending Bucky’s spring break in a secluded, tropical resort should have set his mind at ease. Left no doubt that Bucky belonged to Steve exclusively - and vice versa. Yet there he was, twitching with resentment whenever Mike’s name came up in conversation. It wasn’t reasonable, but he was obsessing. The worst part of it was, he _knew_ he was obsessing and he couldn’t stop. In the battle of rational versus irrational Steve, irrational was winning the prize fight.

But fuck, you’d think Mike had hung the moon and the stars in the sky, given the way Bucky went on about him.

Steve had even made a game attempt to talk about it during therapy, since, well, talking was what you were _supposed_ to do. His therapist had wondered if, perhaps, Steve was projecting. And if maybe he ought to talk to Bucky about it.

Which, sure, if it were a normal thing, he could talk to Bucky. But Bucky hadn’t done anything _wrong_ , and Steve didn’t want to provoke a fight by bringing up his anxieties about just how much time and attention Bucky was giving to his advisor. Especially since Steve knew, deep down, that it was all one hundred percent in his head.

The solution came to him out of the blue one Thursday as he waited for Bucky to get home. If he couldn’t beat Mike, he’d _join_ him. He would out-Mike Mike.

He just had to get Bucky on board.

The opportunity for a discussion presented itself the following Saturday as Bucky sat cross-legged on the floor by Steve’s feet, playing some video game that involved a lot of explosions. Steve wasn’t entirely sure what was happening, but watching him play was a fun distraction.

“Hey,” he said, aiming for casual when he nudged Bucky’s thigh with his socked foot.

“Mmm?”

“Pause the game a second?”

Bucky did as he was asked before turning and propping his chin up on Steve’s knee. “What?”

“I uh.” Fuck, he was nervous. How could he be nervous? They’d spent half the vacation playing an edging game that ended with Bucky in tears, but _this_ was the terrifying thing? “I’ve been thinking.”

Bucky frowned, a worried look in his eyes and his face clouding over. Damn it. Phrasing, Rogers.

“It’s nothing bad! Just...I want to try something new. Friday night, if you’re game.”

“Oh?” Bucky’s anxious expression settled into curiosity as he pressed a kiss to Steve’s denim-clad knee. “What? New toy?”

“Not...no,” he replied, cheeks going red. He sounded like the worst version of his stuttering fifteen-year-old self, asking a popular kid to the prom. Which wasn’t a thing he’d ever attempted, but he had to imagine it wasn’t far from what he was feeling. “I was thinking uh...trying some roleplay?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow and grinned. “Oh reeeeeeeally? What kind of roleplay?”

“That’s the surprise. I just needed to know if you’d be interested.”

Bucky gave him a smile that was equal parts earnest and cheerful before kissing his knee again. “Sure, I guess. Can I play my game now?”

Steve acquiesced and began absently messing with Bucky’s hair as he went back to his explosions.

So, great. Bucky was into it. Theoretically. Now to implement the rest of the plan.

Step two: acquire a tweed jacket. With elbow patches.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve does his level best to out-Mike Mike. Bucky indulges him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick reminder, since it's been a while, Bucky's safeword in this universe is now and always has been "fuck off."

The week between the request and the action was agonizing, though Steve kept busy with setting several wheels in motion, making some plans, and ordering one highly specific piece of pageantry.

On Friday afternoon, he sent Bucky a text around two, hoping to catch him coming out of a meeting with one of his group project teams.

> _I’ll be home around 6 or 6:30 - make yourself scarce. Wear a school sweatshirt. Jeans. Chucks. Come to my office, 7 sharp. Don’t be late._

He added a couple of emojis to make Bucky roll his eyes before sending it. After that, he made a game attempt to focus on the job he was being paid an exorbitant amount of money to do. He ended up going down the rabbit hole on a project, and when he came up for air, he found it was nearly six. Damn. He’d have to get moving.

The elevator was blissfully empty and only stopped once in its descent. Steve huffed out a breath of annoyance only to find Peggy on the other side of the doors when they opened onto her floor. She was worth the ten-second stop, and he smiled.

“Hi,” he greeted, kissing her cheek.

“Hi, yourself,” she said as the doors slid shut. “How’s your week been?”

“As if you don’t know.”

“Rather, but it’s fun watching you splutter incoherently at the incompetence of others.”

“Thanks, Pegs.”

“Hot date tonight?” She gave him a once-over.

“Nah. Just Bucky.”

“Careful, now,” she smiled. “I’ll have to tell him you said that. We text, you know.”

“Oh, I’m aware.” The tentative friendship that had formed between Peggy and Bucky still took him by surprise sometimes, considering the history, but he wasn’t about to protest. They had been texting a fair bit since spending Christmas in one another’s company, and Steve sometimes wondered what exactly the two of them were saying. He assumed it was all about him, and that none of it was especially flattering.

“Tell him I said hello?”

Steve grinned, his poker face about as good as Bucky’s when it came to things like that. “I will...tell him tomorrow. We’ve got plans tonight.”

“God, Steve. You’re not subtle.”

“If you want the gory details…”

“Darling. Absolutely not.”

The doors opened onto the lobby, and Steve offered her a smile. “You want a ride home? Monty can swing by, drop you off.”

“No, but thank you,” she said, exiting the elevator at a brisk pace. “You’re not the only one with plans tonight.”

“I guess not.” A pretty redhead, waiting just beyond the security gates, stood up when Peggy came into view.

Peggy made introductions before Steve excused himself, finding Monty waiting outside by the curb. It was already six-fifteen, and he was decidedly behind schedule. In the end, he made it home just after six-thirty and texted Bucky from the lobby.

> _On my way up. Don’t let me see you_

Because Bucky was a perfect boy, by the time Steve got upstairs, he was nowhere to be found. Likely he was hiding out in the guest bedroom, which was perfect, as Steve needed to be quick about things.

He’d stashed the ridiculous extravagance he’d allowed himself in his office, which was where he went after dropping off his bag in the foyer. It hadn’t been his fault that the selection of tweed had been so intriguing and impressive. Hell, why _should_ he only have a tweed jacket when he could have an entire suit custom-made? It was as bespoke as one could get in a week, at any rate, even if he’d had to pay through the nose for the privilege.

When he finished dressing and looked at himself in the mirror, he decided the splurge had been well worth it. He was downright professorial. Harrison Ford as Indiana Jones teaching a class. Who needed the whip and the hat when you had elbow patches and a waistcoat?

(Well, the whip, maybe.)

His final preparations involved hiding his work suit in the small office closet, along with taking out his contacts and replacing them with the glasses he rarely wore, further enhancing the effect.

Looking the part was easy, of course. Acting it was another. He had a general sense of where he wanted the evening to go but was planning on winging it to a certain extent. Bucky would have been proud.

The surroundings helped. He’d cleared his desk of everything save for a blotter, leaving the expansive surface blank and ripe with possibilities. The desk had seemed silly when his interior decorator first showed it to him - all heavy, imposing dark wood, dominating the room. Now? He was mostly glad it was sturdy.

Bucky’s knock came at seven precisely, and Steve had to wonder how long he’d been standing out there, waiting for the numbers on his phone to change.

Such a damn good boy.

Steve made him wait, sitting down behind the desk and clearing his throat. “Come in.”

The door swung open, and Bucky stepped inside, unsure of what he was walking into. “Hi, uh...you wanted to see me…?” He was searching for his role, looking to Steve for guidance. Steve wasn’t quite ready to give it to him yet.

“I did,” he said. “Have a seat, James.”

Both of Bucky’s eyebrows shot towards his forehead, though he didn’t comment. He shut the door and crossed the room, sitting down in one of the two leather armchairs positioned in front of the desk.

The name was a deliberate choice. Bucky was James at school; he’d been James at work. As far as Steve knew, he was James everywhere that didn’t involve his family or his closest friends. It was a quirk Steve didn’t understand - he liked Bucky’s name - but it was Bucky’s hangup. Some shit about the name being babyish, and how he needed to establish a professional reputation. Steve didn’t care, so long as he got to keep calling him Bucky.

In most contexts, anyway.

Bucky drummed his fingers on his knees, sharp eyes taking in the tweed suit, the cleared desk. The glasses. “Is this about…” he looked down at himself, the NYU logo emblazoned on his chest. “...school?”

“Good guess, James. My class, specifically.”

“Uh, sure,” Bucky agreed, shifting in his seat. “What’s up, Pro-fessor? Rogers?” He was guessing - sounding it out. Steve gave him a nod. “Have...I mean, am I in trouble, or…?”

Steve briefly considered the ‘trouble’ route. It would be easy to turn Bucky into the recalcitrant youth in need of a firm lesson. But truthfully, to scratch this particular itch, Steve needed him to be good. _Mike_ saw him as a good student, after all.

“No, no, nothing like that,” he said, waving a hand. “I only wanted to talk to you about the paper you wrote.”  

“The paper…?”

“For Western Civ.” Which was possibly the only core curriculum class Steve had even the vaguest memory of taking. “The paper about the philosophers?” And so what if he was pulling remnants of his undergraduate curriculum out of his ass? Whatever. It was sex. It didn’t have to be _factual_.

“The, uh. Sure. Philosophers.”

“The section you wrote about the...mentoring relationships between the students and their teachers. It really resonated with me, James. Really got me thinking.”

“...oh, you’re always thinking, Professor Rogers. That must be why I like your class so much.”

Little shit. Steve grinned, looking down at his hands. He couldn’t break. Not this early. “Don’t interrupt your elders, James.”

“Sorry.” He wasn’t.

Steve could work with that. “You’ve just illustrated the problem, though. You’re an intelligent young man. You write well. But you tend to speak before you think.”

An incredulous smile crept across Bucky’s face. “Wow. That sure sounds like _me,_ Professor Rogers.”

Steve’s mouth twitched. “I’m a very observant person, James.” Leaning forward, he steepled his fingers together and fixed Bucky with what he hoped was a keen look. “And I see a lot of potential in you. I’d like to take you under my wing. File off those rough edges so you can become an uh...asset to the university.”

Christ in heaven, he sounded like a bad porno, and he knew it.

“Like…” Bucky furrowed his brow before an understanding passed across his face, and he blinked twice in rapid succession. “Oh! Like you’d be my advisor?”

God damn it. Steve hadn’t been planning on using that word, as it hit very close to home. Bucky was too smart by half, and Steve’s insides were squirming. “If uh. If that’s what you want to call it, sure. I’d like to advise you. Academically, and uh…” he cleared his throat. “Personally.”

“Personally, Professor?”

This was a bad idea. The whole thing was stupid, and Bucky was going to laugh his ass off. Steve was scrambling. “Yes. You uh. The way you dress, it’s...sloppy.”

“Sloppy, Professor?” At least Bucky wasn’t laughing as he looked down at himself with feigned surprise.

“Nobody’s going to take you seriously if you’re dressed like that, James.”

Twisting in his chair, Bucky examined himself from every angle, preening like a peacock. “Golly, Professor Rogers. I never thought about it before. You really think it’s that bad?”

Steve was grateful for the opening - for Bucky playing the game right along with him - and he gestured with an open palm. “I do. Stand up, let me take a look at you.”

Considering Bucky had an exhibitionist streak a mile wide, he looked positively delighted with himself as he got to his feet, tugging his sweatshirt down and doing a ridiculous turn in front of the desk.

“Oh, no,” Steve sighed. “That won’t do at all.” So, British? He sounded British. No, he sounded like Peggy’s _father_ , and why the happy fuck that was happening, he wasn’t even going to begin to try and figure out.

Shoulders slumping, Bucky dropped his gaze. “But you see, the thing is, I’m just a poor underg-”

Steve coughed and shook his head.

“...poor grad-?”

Steve nodded.

“Poor grad student without _any_ money for new clothes.”

“That’s alright, James,” he said, suffusing his tone with warmth. “Why don’t you give me your measurements and I’ll take them to my tailor - have some things made for you. You _do_ know your measurements, don’t you?”

“I...no?” Bucky cackled, breaking character as he stage-whispered, “what _century_ is this, Steve?”

“Fuck off and play along,” he volleyed back.

“Jesus.” Bucky took in a deep breath, eyes to the ceiling before resuming the game. “Noooo, Professor Rogers. I’m afraid I _don’t_ know my measurements.”

“That’s quite alright,” Steve said. The whole thing had taken a turn, but at least this part would get Bucky naked, which was the point. “Why don’t we do that now? Unless you have somewhere more pressing to be?”

“Oh, I cleared my whole goddamn schedule for you, Professor Rogers.”

Bucky was two seconds away from getting the giggles. Which, fair: the entire thing was ridiculous. But a small, desperate little part of Steve needed it to work - needed Bucky to find it sexy and exciting and nervewracking all at once. So, Steve needed to step up and take charge.

“Take your shirt off, then. We’ll get started.”

Bucky froze, any giggles caught in his throat as he hesitated, mulling over the order. He came down on the side of continuing, pulling his sweatshirt over his head. Nothing underneath save for all that pale skin, which Steve took a moment to admire, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

It didn’t take too long for Bucky to start squirming under the scrutiny.

“Hold still,” Steve said. “Arms by your sides.”

Holding still was nearly impossible for Bucky at the best times - he was made to move. Usually, Steve loved watching him writhe, falling apart underneath him and doing as he was told. This, though. This was good, too. He drank Bucky in for ages, minutes on the clock ticking by, as Bucky fought every fidgeting instinct in his body.

Steve put him out of his misery eventually, standing and coming around to the front of the desk, taking one of his wrists in each hand and drawing them up and to the side. For measurements, obviously.

“You’ll have to forgive me, James,” he murmured, mouth dangerously close to Bucky’s shoulder. “I don’t keep a measuring tape in my desk.”

“O-oh,” Bucky said, as though Steve had never said anything more interesting in his life.

“I can improvise.” He stepped back, holding his thumb and forefinger apart slightly. “Does that look like an inch to you?”

“Uh...I guess?”

“Yes or no, James. It’s not a hard question.”

Bucky glared at him. “I’m not a _math_ major, Professor, but I guess that’s about an inch.”

Excellent - Steve had hoped for Bucky to act up a little, even if he was mostly his very good self.

“I see.” Steve smiled. “Well, not-a-math-major, see if you can remember the number one, for now. And hold still.”

Steve began using his inch-measured fingers to draw a random series of lines and patterns all down Bucky’s arms, then across his torso. It was meant merely to tickle him - to force him to move despite Steve’s continued strict admonishments to keep still.

When he reached Bucky’s stomach, he pressed his thumb right into the most ticklish spot on Bucky’s body, which earned him a squeak and a bitten-back giggle as Bucky jumped away.

“No self-control,” he chided. “Forget the number one, now I need you to remember the number two.”

“S-sorry, Professor. It’s uh. I guess I’m ticklish.”

“It’s very unbecoming.”

Steve could almost hear the thought-bubble leave Bucky’s head with the insult “ _you’re_ very unbecoming” inside, though Bucky stayed silent. Until Steve tickled him again, which resulted in him dropping position to smack Steve’s hand away.

“Huh. Arms back up, and go ahead and make that three, Mr. Barnes.”

The torture continued - all up and down Bucky’s front, then his back, until nearly every square inch of skin had been ‘measured’ and Bucky’s arms were beginning to shake from the effort of holding them up. Steve resisted the urge to kiss his shoulder as he reached out to retake his wrists, lowering them to his sides.

“Very good,” he murmured. Bucky’s spine straightened at the praise, just as Steve had known it would.

“Thanks, Professor Rogers.”

Steve smiled, moving to sit on the edge of his desk and looking Bucky over. “I won’t be able to measure your hips or your inseam with your jeans on. Go ahead and take them off.”

Bucky hesitated, cheeks going red. Weird - Bucky was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a blusher, and he wasn’t shy. Maybe he was more into the character than Steve realized. “I uh. The thing is, Professor Rogers…”

“Spit it out.”

“The thing is. I’m not. I don’t exactly have, uh. Anything on? Underneath?”

Fuckity fuck, Steve loved Bucky. He hadn’t told him _not_ to wear underwear, but he wasn’t mad about Bucky taking the initiative, even if Professor Rogers was scandalized. “I see. And do you usually...oh, how do the kids put it? Go commando?”

Bucky snorted. Steve held up four fingers. Bucky scowled.

“No, Professor Rogers. Normally I wear, you know. Boxers?”

“I see.” Steve remained where he was, gesturing at Bucky’s jeans. “I’m afraid there’s nothing for it. This ought to teach you to take better care when choosing your outfits. Go on, take them off.”

Bashful Bucky untied his shoes first, removing them along with his socks before popping the button on his jeans, sliding down the zipper and pushing the material over his hips. Steve was pleased to note he was already half-hard, which meant that the game was working for him on some level, at least.

Knocking the jeans away with his foot, Bucky looked to Steve for his next move.

“Pick your things up,” Steve snapped. “Fold them and put them on the chair.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. Steve smirked. “Discourteous, James.”

“I wasn’t!” Bucky protested.

“Why don’t you go ahead and remember the numbers five and six?”

“Steeeeve…”

“Seven.”

“Jesus.” He bent to pick up his things. Steve resisted the urge to smack him on the ass, which was very magnanimous of him.

“Eight. Don’t swear.”

Bucky wisely kept his mouth shut as he folded his clothing and placed the items on the armchair before turning back around to face Steve, arms stiff at his sides.

“Much better.” Steve got to his feet. Then - in a move he hoped came across as suave - dropped to his knees in a way that reminded him he was pushing forty and the rug over the hardwood wasn’t thick enough to insulate his joints from the impact. He bit back a groan, closing his eyes and counting to five before continuing. “I’m going to measure your inseam now. Spread your legs.”

“But Professor Rogers, that’s…”

“I know it might feel uncomfortable, James,” he replied, going back to the kindly-old-professor character. “But we need to be accurate.”

“Right. Accurate.” Bucky’s cock gave an interested little twitch of approval, the muscles in his thighs flexing as he inched his feet apart. Steve’s perfect, gorgeous boy.

He hooked his hands around Bucky’s ankles, beginning there and working his way right up the insides of his thighs. Measuring, ostensibly, though by the time he reached the upper half of his quads, Bucky was fully hard, breath coming quicker.

“Oh, James,” he murmured. “I didn’t realize you’d find this so...distracting.”

“Ssssorry, Professor.” The words came in a heady, whiny tone that indicated Bucky was into it - whatever ‘it’ was - and ready to do as Steve wanted. “I can’t help it.”

“I remember how it is,” he said, sitting back on his heels and placing one hand on the desk to push himself to his feet in as dignified a fashion as he could muster. “Young man like you - it’s perfectly natural. I’m sure you’re beating the guys off with a stick.”

“I...not exactly, Professor Rogers.”

Bucky was giving him the _look_ \- the doe-eyed nonsense look that he pulled out when he wanted something very specific.

“Really?” Steve asked, leaning against the desk and raising an eyebrow. “No boyfriend?”

“No, Professor Rogers.”

“But surely you’ve been fucked, James.”

Eyes widening with the scandal of it all, Bucky shook his head. Adorable. “Gosh, _no_ , Professor Rogers.”

Steve wasn’t entirely sure what Bucky was getting at, so he tried a different angle. “You’ve fucked someone else, then? Taken them to bed?” They hadn’t done that before, but if Bucky wanted to play it that way, Steve was game.

“Uh…” Bucky laughed, genuinely baffled at where Steve had taken things. “Uh, no?”

“Wait, really?” Breaking character, Steve frowned. “Never?”

Incredulous, and losing his own character, Bucky shrugged. “No. You know that.”

Steve hadn’t known that. In the almost-two years (more or less) they’d been together, he’d always assumed Bucky preferred bottoming. He’d never asked for anything different, so Steve had figured it was a preferential thing rather than a lack of experience.

He told Bucky as much. “I...did not know that.”

Bucky scowled. “Well, I haven’t. So, whatever. Aren’t you gonna cast aspersions on my sex life some more, Professor Rogers?”

Sore subject, and Steve didn’t want to ruin the evening, though he wasn’t going to forget it had come up.

“No need to be rude, James,” he replied, making an effort to get back into his role. “Let’s make it an even ten, shall we?”

Still pouting, Bucky shrugged. Shit. Steve had to get him back into things. “As I was saying,” he said, clearing his throat and drumming his fingers on the side of the desk. “It’s surprising to me that you’ve never been fucked. But...it explains some things.”

“It does?” The curiosity in Bucky’s tone won out over his sulkiness.

“Mmmhmm.” Steve pushed away from the desk and circled Bucky, hoping to make him shiver. If Bucky wanted to play the blushing virgin, Steve could work with that. “Your impetuous behavior - the way you lash out. You never have an...outlet for your emotions.”

“Oh, but like...I jerk off all the _time_ , Professor Rogers.”

Brat. Steve grinned behind Bucky’s back. “I have no doubt. But it’s different doing it with someone else, I promise you that.”

“Gosh,” Bucky sighed. “Too bad there’s nobody like that around here.”

Subtle. Steve rolled his eyes before tugging on Bucky’s shoulder, spinning him around. “Isn’t there?”

Bucky’s eyes went wide - the most naive and virginal waif at his own debutante ball. “You don’t mean _you_ , do you, Professor Rogers?”

Aggrieved, Steve shrugged his shoulders. “It’s not an idea I _enjoy_ , precisely, but…”

“You’ll do your duty for king and country?”

“Bucky.” Steve couldn’t keep the grin off his face, and he cast his eyes to the heavens once again, counting to ten. “James. Bend over the desk.”

“It’s not my goddamn fault you sound like a romance novel, Professor Rogers,” Bucky sighed, before flattening himself across the desk, choosing the short side, so he had more room to stretch. God, the sight of that would never get old - Bucky laid out and waiting for Steve to claim him.

Couldn’t let sentiment get in the way of a good time, however. “Smartass,” he smirked. “Twelve.”

“It was ten before!”

“You were _respectful_ before. Fourteen.”

“I - “

“Fifteen.”

Bucky shut his mouth and turned his forehead against the desk. Steve liked to imagine he was scowling with the might of a thousand vengeful kittens.

“Aren’t you going to ask?” Steve prompted.

Bucky shook his head.

“I thought you’d be curious about why I was having you count…”

There was frustration in every line of Bucky’s body. Steve could see it in the way he bounced on his heels, calves taut, muscles tightening. Good. Steve liked him frustrated. Granted, he liked him ornery, too. Mostly, he just liked Bucky.

He moved closer, breaking character as he leaned down and pressed a light kiss to Bucky’s tense shoulder. “I’m gonna warm you up, okay, pal?”

Bucky wasn’t an idiot - he had to know that Steve was having him count strokes of something, and Steve had been doing this sort of thing long enough to know that what he had planned would wreak havoc on skin that wasn’t at least a bit pinked up. Some people liked weals and bruises, but that had never been his preferred aesthetic.

A smile crossed Bucky’s face as he turned his head to the side, pillowing his cheek on his hands. Steve moved behind him, spanking him with an open palm in a steady rhythm, the way they’d done countless times before. All the tension bled right out of Bucky as he worked, body practically melting into the desk as he shifted his position, hands stretching out to hold onto the opposite edge of the furniture, the long, lean line of his body more than inviting. Steve upped the intensity at the end, a few extra sharp slaps echoing through the room before he stopped and lay a hand on the small of Bucky’s back.

“That’s my good boy,” he teased. Bucky grinned, wriggling in that way that always made Steve laugh.

Back to the game, though. They weren’t done quite yet.

Steve took his hand away and cleared his throat. “James…” he began, letting Bucky know where he stood.

“Yes, Professor?”

Walking behind the desk, Steve opened up the middle drawer to retrieve a ruler he’d had since college. It was stupid and sentimental to keep it - he wasn’t designing anything on graph paper these days. Still, it was well-made, and it had held up over years of use and abuse. Hopefully, it would hold up to Bucky’s backside.

Lifting the implement out, he placed it in Bucky’s line of sight, watching as Bucky’s eyes widened, staring at the ruler like it was a live snake Steve had put on the desk and instructed to bite him.

“Do you understand now, why I was having you count?”

Bucky’s eyes moved from the ruler to Steve’s face, and he nodded, a blush rising on his cheeks. “It’s...that looks like it’s gonna hurt, Professor Rogers.”

It would. Steve had practiced it on himself, the same way he did with every new toy, wanting to know precisely what he was inflicting on the person underneath him. Bucky, specifically, was funny about impact play. He insisted he preferred spanking - that Steve’s hand was the best thing _ever_. Then he’d start humping the furniture any time Steve brought something new into the bedroom. They’d tried floggers, belts, and leather paddles so far, and without fail Bucky would turn into a pretty, crying mess over each of them, cuddling up to Steve afterward, docile and sweet and so terribly _Bucky_ about it all.

The ruler was a different sort of pain. Lighter, stingier, biting in at the surface rather than the deeper ache of the other implements. Bucky had earned fifteen, though Steve wasn’t sure he could take that many and was more than willing to cut him some slack. It was his first time, after all.

“It is,” he said, in response to Bucky’s question as he picked up the ruler and took his position. “You’re allowed to make noise, but be a good boy and don’t move.”

Bucky tensed before Steve could land the first stroke, which undoubtedly made it worse. Steve didn’t hit him too hard, and the impact of the ruler left his pinked skin bloodless for a second or two before the mark made itself evident - a perfect rectangle blossoming right as the pain of it hit Bucky, who let out a whine.

“Fu-uuuuck,” he grunted, knocking his forehead against the wood of the desk as his fingers scrabbled for purchase.

Steve didn’t give him the chance to recover before delivering the second blow, lower than the first. Bucky jerked forward, harder than he’d probably intended, and Steve heard the impact of his hips hitting the wood. He wasn’t about to count that as moving, and he waited for a moment before delivering a third stroke. A fourth. A fifth.

Bucky was a trooper up until the eighth smack of the ruler, which Steve laid diagonally across several of the previous stripes. Bucky twisted away with a yelp, misjudging the size of the desk and slipping off the side in his haste to get away. Once he hit the floor, though, he moved quickly, wrapping his arms around Steve’s calves and pressing his face against the tweed.

“Please, please, no more,” he panted. “Steve. Fuck off, please. I hate that one. It hurts too much.”

Steve didn’t blame him - people had preferences, and the ruler was decidedly a different sort of impact play. He had been brave to try, and Steve was proud of him.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said, running a hand through the tangled mess that was Bucky’s hair. “It’s okay, sweetheart. We’re done. Come on up here, huh?”

Putting the ruler on the desk, he reached down and pulled Bucky up and into a tight hug, hands moving down to give the abused flesh of Bucky’s backside a rub, which earned him a hiss, but not an unhappy one. Bucky clung to him fiercely, same as he always did after something intense, hiding against Steve’s shoulder and sniffling.

“Sorry,” he muttered eventually.

“Nah,” Steve teased. “Not allowed, pal. No apologies for calling an audible. You don’t like the ruler, noted. It’s off the table.”

“It’s...I don’t know,” he muttered. “It’s like a fuckin’ knife. I dunno how to describe it.”

“Then we’re done with it,” Steve said. “Put it on the list.”

Bucky pulled back, a smile on his face and tear tracks on his cheeks. Steve hated himself sometimes for how much the sight of tears on Bucky’s face did it for him. The kid was a pretty goddamn cryer, was all.

“Thanks,” Bucky mumbled, letting Steve baby him - tuck some hair behind his ear, kiss his forehead, his nose, his mouth.

“What do you think, Buck?” Steve murmured. “Done?”

Bucky considered, a gleam of something in his eyes. “I dunno, uh, Professor Rogers. I seem to recall you saying I was gonna get fucked…”

Steve’s mouth twitched, and he snorted. “Yeah, I uh. That sounds like me.”

Taking a step back, Bucky grinned and sat right down on the desk, only to be reminded that his ass had been very recently-rulered. He winced. Steve tried not to laugh, finding it easy enough to sober up when he looked down and realized that the ‘punishment’ had taken the fun out of things for Bucky - he’d gone soft, whereas usually, their spankings had him raring to go.

That guilty conscience spurred Steve forward, one hand going to Bucky’s shoulder as the other reached between his legs to stroke him. “So impatient, James,” he murmured against Bucky’s temple, using every trick he knew to bring him back around.

“Sorry, Professor,” Bucky said, head falling back as Steve worked. It didn’t take much before he had Bucky shivering and moaning, thrusting his hips up. Any more friction and Steve was going to need lube, so he pulled his hand away instead, enjoying the indignant howl wrought by the action.

“Turn over on your stomach,” he said, slipping back into the academic disinterest of Professor Rogers. “I’d rather not have to see your face.”

Bucky’s expression lit up, though he made every attempt to school his features. “That’s _rude_ , Professor Rogers.”

“I can’t help it if I’d rather look at the back of your head, James,” he said. “It’s much more interesting.”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky stood up and turned around, assuming his previous position. “You’re kind of a dick, Professor.”

“Why don’t you call me Steve, James? Being as we’re so close and all.”

Bucky twisted his head around, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t you think that’s kinda... _disrespectful_?”

Shit and god damn the pale skin of his Irish ancestry that let his blush be so easily seen. “Your uh, whole ass is disrespectful?”

Fucking forget it. They weren’t cut out for roleplay. Bucky officially had the giggles, and they’d both lost the plot.

“Buck, come on…” he laughed, trying and failing to recover. “I’m doing my best.”

“I’m not stopping you!”

Fair point. Steve stepped behind him, cutting off the giggles by digging his fingertips into Bucky’s hips. It was a neat party trick - Bucky went silent, save for a groan as Steve hit the deep muscles under his skin.

“Much better,” Steve said, before reaching over to open the top drawer of the desk, where he’d stashed a bottle of lube. It was a wonder he’d never been a boy scout, considering how goddamn prepared he was. He swore he could see Bucky’s ass twitch when he popped the cap. Pavlovian fuckin’ response.

“This might feel strange, James,” he said, attempting to recapture the role. There was something beautiful about Bucky playing the virgin, he decided, when Bucky did his best to fight and clench against the intrusion of Steve’s finger. As though it were brand new. As though Steve didn’t know Bucky better than he’d known any partner before in his life. His tells, his secret places.

Prepping him was old hat, but that didn’t make it any less interesting, especially when Bucky was having fun feigning shock. Clenching up. Gasping at the first finger, moaning at the second, writhing at the third. Which, of course, Steve had to use, being as he was a _virgin_ and all.

“You gonna uh, get undressed, Professor?” Bucky asked as he fucked himself back on Steve’s fingers. The complete disregard Bucky had for dignity when it came to seeking pleasure was one of Steve’s favorite things about him.

“No.” Steve used his free hand to unzip the trousers of his suit, adjusting what needed adjusting before freeing his cock from its confines. He’d been hard since well before the ruler, but he was exceedingly good at biding his time. “I don’t think I will, Mr. Barnes.”

“Oh fuck,” Bucky realized. “Fuck, that’s sexy. Steve...Professor Rogers. Please, fuck me?”

Some goddamn virgin. “Since you asked so politely.”

Steve realized it was excessively sentimental to wax rhapsodic about sinking into Bucky. It wasn’t as though he was going to say something stupid about how being inside of him felt like touching God, because that was ridiculous. Still, there was something dumb and primal and wonderful about fucking him. Draping his suit-clad body over Bucky’s naked one, grinding against him. The tweed would be _murderously_ itchy.

“Fuh-huuuuuck,” Bucky whined, turning his head to try and get a kiss. He was so easy.

“Lousy vocabulary, kiddo,” Steve grunted, setting a rhythm as he drove Bucky right into the desk. “Don’t you know any other words?”

Bucky grunted. Steve grabbed him by the hair, maneuvering his other hand between Bucky’s body and the desk, fisting Bucky’s cock, the weight of it familiar in his hand.

Talking went out the window for Bucky around that point, usually, whereas Steve knew he could be...uncomfortably verbose. He’d been told as much by various people who’d shared his bed. It wasn’t his fault; he didn’t remember half the shit he said when he was fucking, and especially when he was fucking Bucky.

“...prettiest fuckin’ straight A student _fuck_ pretty boy, you’re so good. You’re such a good boy, Bucky, my good boy…”

(Alright, so maybe he _kind of_ remembered what he said. Nobody had to know. Besides, Bucky would never let him live it down if he knew Steve ran off at the mouth with intent. How else was he going to say all the things he needed to say while retaining some semblance of control?)

Bucky came first, which was surprising. Generally, Steve had to work him over for a minute or so after finishing up. The spunk spattered the desktop, and Steve winced. They had to stop fucking without a towel. Any day now, they were going to remember. It had only been two years, give or take a month.

His orgasm wasn’t far behind, hips stuttering a few times as he shoved Bucky face down against the desk, rougher than he meant to be. Once he was spent, he collapsed right on top of Bucky’s body, pinning him down, the sweet, comfortable silence left in the wake of their shared bliss lasting all of thirty seconds before Bucky started bitching.

“Itchy, itchy, _itchy._ ”

Oh, right. The tweed. Steve was sweating, the wool raising his body temperature well over where it would usually have been. He desperately wanted to strip off and shower.

Still, the whiny baby underneath him presented him with too excellent an opportunity to pass up.

“What, you don’t like this, sweetheart?” He rubbed himself against Bucky, every movement likely driving thousands of tiny, itchy fibers right into Bucky’s sweat-soaked skin.

“Oh, fuck you, that’s awful. Steve, Daddy, whatever! Please? I hate you, fuuuuuck, that feels so gross.”

“You’re such a fuckin’ baby.” He kissed Bucky’s shoulder before pulling away, cock slipping from Bucky’s body without much effort. “I ought to make you give me a hug. Sit on my lap and cuddle me for hours. _Hate_ me, pfft. Rude.”

Bucky - genuinely concerned that Steve might make him do either of those things - looked over his shoulder and batted his big, trying-to-be-beguiling blue eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Uh huh.” Steve pulled him up, giving him a proper kiss and only one _little_ squeeze to put him in contact with the suit once more. “Sit down.” He pointed at the leather armchair that didn’t have Bucky’s clothes in it. “I’m going to clean up.”

Bucky did what he was told, curling up in the chair, legs tucked underneath him as he watched Steve wipe everything down, put things away, and strip out of the suit, which he tossed onto the chair with Bucky’s outfit. It would need to go the dry cleaners, at the very least.

Once he was as naked as Bucky, he held out a hand and hauled Bucky to his feet, wrapping him up for another kiss. “How was that?” he asked.

“Good.” Bucky was still with him - a little dopey, but more in a fucked out way than a subspacey one.

“Did you eat?”

“Umm...at like three? And I had a protein bar when I got home.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Uh huh.”

Bucky was easily pleased - a couple of bagels and cream cheese brought to the den. Bucky’s current favorite band on the stereo and his head in Steve’s lap while Steve dutifully fed him bites of food. He had insisted - as he sometimes did - that he was too tired to lift a hand to his mouth. Steve indulged him.

“Hey,” Steve murmured after a while, figuring they ought to debrief.

“Hey, yourself.”

“Cute.”

“I know I am.”

“Bucky…” he laughed. “Dumb question, but were you serious about that whole...you’ve never fucked anyone thing?”

Bucky frowned, all cuteness forgotten. “You _knew_ that.”

“No, I didn’t. I guess I assumed you’d tried it and didn’t like it.”

“Well, I didn’t. I’m a bottom.”

Sometimes, Steve wondered if Bucky had realized he was gay, read one badly-written article on the internet when he was fifteen, internalized everything in it, and regurgitated it verbatim when pressed.

“Bucky, that’s not...most people have _preferences_ , but it’s not…”

“Ugh, _Steve_.” Nothing like an eye-roll for maturity’s sake. “It’s not a big deal. The first guy I was with only wanted to top. And then like, I didn’t want to _ask_ , and I didn’t know how to do it, and it’s easier to like...get fucked than do all the prep. Like, I’d probably fuck it up, and what if I hurt someone? I don’t know. I’m with you now, anyway, so it doesn’t matter.”

“You know I’m good either way.”

“Yeah, but not with _me_.”

Steve couldn’t help laughing. “Why not with you?”

Bucky nearly choked on his bagel. “I can’t. I mean. I can’t.”

“We should,” Steve continued, as though Bucky wasn’t aspirating poppyseeds. “You ought to try it.”

“But…”

“I’m not going to force you, but I could help. Show you what to do. You’re not going to hurt me.”

“No.” Bucky paused, considering. “Maybe.”

Maybe was a start. Steve could work with maybe, though he wasn’t going to push Bucky any further that night.

“Did you like the roleplay?” he asked instead, steering the conversation away.

“Yes,” Bucky grinned. “That was fun. Sorry I kept laughing.”

Steve shrugged and reached out to brush away a crumb that had caught on Bucky’s cheek. “It’s supposed to be fun. Who cares if you laughed?”

“Yeah.” Bucky looked thoughtful, turning his head and pressing a kiss to Steve’s stomach, just above his navel. “You know…”

“Hmm?”

“Just...you should know I love you. A lot. You do know that, right?”

“Yeah, Buck,” he said, curious at the line of inquiry. “Of course I do.”

“Okay, because…” Shrugging, he nuzzled closer, turning on his side and butting his head right against Steve’s torso. “I love you more than _anyone_. And I think you’re like...so fuckin’ amazing? I talk about you all the time, you know. At school, people tease me about it. Like, oh _Steve_ again, because I’m always bringing you up.”

The sentiment was flattering and unexpected, making Steve smile. It hadn’t occurred to him that Bucky might talk about him that way. The notion of it stroked his ego and his pride, but more than that, it was reassuring.

“That’s...thank you, Buck,” he replied, running a hand through Bucky’s hair and down his jaw, thumb lingering on the skin there. “I love you more than anyone, too.”

Bucky grinned. “God, we’re fucking sappy.”

“Fucking sappy,” Steve agreed.

 

* * *

 

When Bucky graduated about a year later, Steve went slightly over the top with his graduation party. A venue was rented. There were gift bags. Catering. An open bar with top-shelf liquor along with a DJ. But hell, Bucky was only going to graduate _once_ , and Steve was allowed to be proud.

(He ignored the fact that Bucky had, in fact, already graduated college once, and if he ever chose to get his Ph.D., he would graduate again. Those were semantics.)

The party was a massive success, although Steve only knew about twenty percent of the people in attendance. As it should have been, considering Bucky wrote the guest list. They were making the rounds together, saying hello to everyone who’d come out, when Bucky tugged on Steve’s arm.

“Mike!” Bucky exclaimed, pulling Steve in the direction of - huh. A fairly nondescript guy with a full beard that had more salt than pepper, arm in arm with an equally nondescript brunette. Mike was shorter than Steve by at least four inches and older than him by at least fifteen years. He looked perfectly pleasant, though he did have the fashion sense of a college professor, and not the Indiana Jones variety.

In other words, not _quite_ the debonair lothario of Steve’s fevered imagination.

“Bucky, congratulations,” Mike greeted, drawing Bucky in for a hug before releasing him. “Have you met my wife?”

“No, hi,” Bucky said, extending a hand.

“Jeanne,” she greeted.

“Hi,” Bucky repeated. “This is my partner, Steve.”

The introductions were awkward, and they made small talk for a bit about Bucky’s plans, Mike’s research, Jeanne’s job, their kids, the party, the usual.

As they walked away, Steve glanced over at Bucky. “So uh, that’s the famous Mike, huh?”

To his credit, Bucky didn’t smirk or laugh. Didn’t do anything except lean over and kiss Steve’s cheek before taking his hand. “Yeah. He was a good advisor, but...I dunno. He wasn’t my favorite professor.”

“No?”

“Nah. Didn’t really measure up to this handsome bastard I had my first year for Western Civ.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I've missed writing these two, so I hope those of you who enjoyed PI enjoy this as well. Say hi on Tumblr at [notlucy](https://notlucy.tumblr.com), and if you want to keep up with what I'm writing in addition to occasional PI one-shots, I have another WIP posting right now, and I'll be participating in the Cap Reverse Big Bang over the next few weeks.


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